Bleeding Sanctuary
by Holly Rose E
Summary: CHAPTER FOUR. To be unique isn't always the best thing to be. Locked in a Mental Institution, the X-Men and Brotherhood uncover some other strange people, some mutants, and some not. The Objective: To live long enough to get out.
1. Prologue

Bleeding Sanctuary  
  
By: Holly Rose E  
  
Summary: To be unique isn't always the best thing to be. Locked in a Mental Institution, the X-Men and Brotherhood uncover some other strange people, some mutants, and some not. The Objective: To live long enough to get out.  
  
A/N: Dedicated to all those who sent me a character, and to those who are being so kind for me being a complete dumb-ass.  
  
*****  
  
Prologue: Delete  
  
Snakes hiss and dance  
  
Feral and unblinking, they glance  
  
In my direction, I guess they see  
  
A little child who gave up  
  
It has left my decency  
  
~Holly Rose E.  
  
*****  
  
At night, it's always absurdly quiet here. Not a noise resounds, except for the few tears and gasping sobs that a few more pride-less will let escape them.  
  
A new group came the other day; we've never had that happen before. Usually, it's just one at a time - and usually they come every other month it seems like.  
  
But two days ago, we had near ten - maybe more - show up all at once, even a few adults, which is beyond frightening. I had always thought this place was for kids and teens, but apparently I was wrong if they were bringing full-grown people into this loony bin.  
  
I remember all their faces distinctly, as a matter of fact. I think there were three that had to be snapped into a straight jacket  
  
_[oh god get me out I can't breathe you sons of whores let me out I can't feel my arms I'm being constricted let me the FUCK OUT!]_  
  
and if you've ever been in one, you'd know what I mean when I say I damn near cried for them.  
  
Two girls, a man, and one boy.  
  
The first girl had short cropped black hair, dyed red in some places, and was growing frantic - her eyes darting all over the place, the blue of them seeming to glow with her fright.  
  
I felt pity for her, and I got the strangest sense she'd dealt with this type before, and I suppose that, yes, I could relate.  
  
If I had ever gotten out only to be placed right back in though, I would have killed myself long before they'd gotten to me.  
  
The other girl, reddish-brown hair framed her face with two stripes of white for her bangs falling into her eyes. She was just biting her lip, daring anybody to come close to her.  
  
The man, a big burly one with a unique style of blueish hair, was growling at all of them, and kept muttering to a handicapped individual with a distinct loss of hair, who only remained silent, not saying a word they entire time.  
  
The boy, with an out-of-date mullet that looked almost charming on his own features, was just staring into space in a stupor.  
  
They were led to their rooms for the rest of the day, the four in the Coats led to solitary, where they still are if my information source is correct.  
  
The others didn't look like anything was wrong with them at all - there was one woman who had beautiful dark-toned skin, with a mass of snowy hair - but they were here all the same.  
  
And it truly doesn't matter if they were insane or not.  
  
Once you get here, this place... this place does things to you.  
  
Have you ever read the novel by Stephen King, entitled "The Shining"? Or at least seen the movie.  
  
This loony-house is like that Hotel; it works at people, bending their will to its own perverse pleasure.  
  
I retreat back to my room, leaving the others, not that any of them really noticed me.  
  
I'm just a nobody in a sea of nododies.  
  
-End Prologue-  
  
So? How'd you all like? CRITIQUE! YES! Go critique my little minions, pick it apart!  
  
Love and Peace  
  
-Holly  
  
P.S. For those who are wondering, I sincerely doubt if the narrator will make an appearance, I just felt like writing in first person. ^-^ 


	2. Chapter One: Numb

Bleeding Sanctuary  
  
By: Holly Rose E  
  
Summary: OC-infected. To be unique isn't always that great. The Brotherhood and X-Men are locked up in a Mental Institution, and uncover some mutants and some humans. The Objective: Live long enough to get out.  
  
Rating: PG-13, likely to be upped.  
  
A/N: Sweet Mother of Pepsi. SEVENTEEN reviews for a PROLOGUE?! I about died of shock. Lucky I didn't, else I wouldn't finish it, now would I? I made this one longer, because you're special like that.  
  
*****  
  
Chapter One: Numb  
  
Can't you see that you're smothering me  
  
Holding too tightly, afraid to lose control  
  
Cause everything that you thought I would be  
  
Has fallen apart right in front of you  
  
~Linkin Park  
  
*****  
  
She's staring at him, wondering just how they would be able to make this work.  
  
He wasn't an old man, not overly so, somewhere in his thirties or early forties. He had a nice, pleasant smile, showing that he really wasn't here to judge or scorn.  
  
Some may not believe that, but it was God's-Honest-Truth.  
  
"So," he began, that charming, unnerving smile plastered to his features, "it says here in your profile that -"  
  
She tuned out, not wanting to hear his drabble. She was in a loony bin because of her bastard of a father, pure and simple.  
  
She nearly bit her lip, glanced at Dr. Perry, and decided it best not to. She'd heard from Trevor that the man was very astute, and a bit of an empath. Trevor had been here longer than she had (if only by a few weeks) but she trusted him; he was a good boy to be around.  
  
But then a thought came to her, nearly snapping her head back from the force: What does it matter? The rules in here are different from the rules out in the 'Real Earth', as one girl had so bitterly and affectionately called it. All they could do here was put her into solitary.  
  
When her father had dropped her off, he had smiled sadly, promised to come and visit her, and hugged her tightly as only a father really can. She, however, had remained emotionless, not feeling a thing as he said these words to her, or gave her a hug that she would have - under normal circumstances - welcomed back with just as much energy.  
  
But now, she was so tired.  
  
Her mother had died a year or two before, leaving Leila Press in a state of utter shock.  
  
Her shock wasn't quite what the medical doctors would call exclusive or whatnot, with their high-tech babble. She went about her daily business as she always did, except now she was detached, just sort of floating through and pasting a smile to her face every day before she left her room, prepared to take on the world and deceive all that everything was perfect today.  
  
And then one day... she had just slipped.  
  
She'd been clinging onto a mountain, rocks and dust of ages falling past her, into a depthless crevasse below, where she would land  
  
[no, you'll never land, you'll just keep falling and falling forever and ever, there is no escaping, you psycho bitch, god, you're so fucking disgusting, you don't deserve to live, your father doesn't love you and your mother's dead because she didn't find anything worth living for, you deserve to die, you're so disgusting, you failed!]  
  
She'd never know; even if she *did* land, it would probably only be on jutting, broken pieces of the mirror.  
  
But when she did, when she tried that one last time to reach the top to save herself from forever dangling there precariously on the waning stones, it collapsed underneath the gentle touch of her fingertips.  
  
After her father had gone to get the weekly groceries for the two of them, she'd sat in the bathroom, staring at the mirror that hung on the door for what seemed like hours, just staring at her reflection in a trance. She saw nothing there when she looked, all she saw was this empty space where a person should be.  
  
A bubble built up inside of her, welling up from her stomach, tingling at first. It began to burn horribly as it reached her chest, mashing her lungs, feeling her ribs poke into the vital organs. She choked as it consumed the space of her throat, a gigantic ball of emotion that she could neither swallow nor cough up.  
  
Instead, in a fit of fury and panic, she swung her fist out, right into her nonexistent reflection, smashing the glittering piece to shatter into a million tinier ones.  
  
She coughed, a small portion of the ball escaping, but where that left, more came, until it consumed her, escaping through her pain-wracked coughs and gasping sobs, through the crystalline ice tears that fell and danced together unceremoniously onto the glass.  
  
She saw the salty water perch and languidly lie there, sometimes joining together to form one, and only saw that.  
  
Her other senses, her mind mostly, had shut down.  
  
When she came back to her mine, landing with a horrifying crash, she stared at herself, covered with tears and blood and glass.  
  
Her father was home by then, and Leila was too weak to get up and run, or at least try to salvage whatever dignity or shred of sanity she had left.  
  
He found her, and had lived in torment wondering whether or not she'd try it again.  
  
She had, and he had brought her here.  
  
"Leila?"  
  
Startled out of her reminiscing, she blinked at Dr. Perry, cocking her head to give recognition.  
  
"I have an idea about what we can do for our sessions, seeing as you are verbally handicapped…" he started.  
  
She nodded, only half-listening to him.  
  
***  
  
He awoke slowly, not fully coming to. A jab of pain flared up his left arm as he made to move it to help prop himself up.  
  
A needle, connected to an IV bag, and he knew; he'd dealt with this before. He was being intravenously fed.  
  
Blinking emerald eyes stared passively at the ceiling, which was veined with cracks and dotted with holes and stains, many a chip in the long ago painted lavender.  
  
'Pastel,' he thought, 'as always. The soothing colors of the world my ass.'  
  
He shut his eyes near painfully, and thought long and hard, the drugs they had apparently given him still kicking with full effort. He must have got caught…  
  
[that is so gross, why do you do that to yourself? do you have any idea, Jesus, you're so thin, how do you do it? that's disgusting, god I am so FAT!]  
  
… throwing his food out again.  
  
He bit his lip, refusing to let his tears come, to melt the ice inside and let it flow out onto the religiously white bed sheets.  
  
Oh, how he loathed the medical ward. It had never been a top spot to visit on his summer vacations. But more and more, he found himself in these beds that were all the same size, the rooms all the same colors, and the nurses with all the same smiles.  
  
He was here in the Happy House for one reason: He was too damn smart.  
  
After his parents divorced when he was around the influencing age of seven, he stayed with his mother permanently, forever playing with his new toys and watching whatever Saturday Cartoon happened to be on.  
  
At his father's apartment, TVs and toys did not exist - they belonged to a distant and far away land. They forever read and played chess and checkers, which really brought out the thinker in little Trevor Greer.  
  
He even became quite the genius in solving the impossibly stubborn and simplistically complex Rubik's Cube. He eventually grew fond of word puzzles and the like.  
  
By the time he reached the fifth grade, a teacher he came to resent with a great passion in the following years, suggested that he take a test to see how apt he was.  
  
He was moved up by two grades.  
  
Now, since he was too smart, he was scorned - by his previous peers, and by his new ones, because whenever a child is placed into an older one's classroom to be there permanently because they had the intelligence to be there, the older ones feel threatened, inferior.  
  
And so, Trevor began to purge under the strain, his throat burning and his stomach - for the first two or so weeks - growling and screaming at him to feed it.  
  
Soon, he just stopped eating all together.  
  
Even his mother could not help but notice the change in Trevor, who shoved the food in his mouth and gulped it down like any teenage boy is prone to do and going to the bathroom immediately after, it became routine for their two-person family. When he suddenly became picky, wrinkling his nose at every tiny thing his mother offered to prepare for a meal, or proposed to eat out.  
  
And when he did eat, it was only a few bites, more likely less than that; whenever his mother wouldn't look, he'd grab a napkin and fold the food into that, shoving it into his pants pockets. This was how he had been able to refuse treatment here at the 'Tute until just now.  
  
His mother tried to get him into clinics; few would take him because of his gender (how many boys on average became anorexic anyway?) and eventually his mother was without enough money to pay them.  
  
She dropped him off here, coming to visit once a month.  
  
Trevor hasn't seen his father since he was admitted.  
  
His first real friend he'd made, the only one who actually decided he was worth advancing to, was Donovan, and what a character he was.  
  
"Greer, Trevor, how nice to see you awake." said a nurse - Rachel Eastman -walking in briskly, his folder opened in her hands. She read over his profile quickly, and looked at him, lips pursed tightly before smoothing out into a large smile as she began to talk to him about what was going to happen to him now.  
  
-End Chapter One-  
  
Hey guys, hope you liked Chapter One okay. I'm not really sure about it, I'm reverting back to an old writing style and evolving it at the same time.  
  
But yeah, Dr. Perry belongs to Phobia, Leila Press to cheeky-bear007, and Trevor Greer to Radical Ed 85.  
  
Until next time, love you all muchly.  
  
-Holly 


	3. Chapter Two: Surgery

Bleeding Sanctuary  
  
By: Holly Rose E.  
  
A/N: All my Season 01 Digimon episodes have been taped over... *sigh* So, we shall start anew, if the channels ever decide to play them again. Sorry for the wait, lovelies.  
  
*****  
  
Chapter Two: Surgery  
  
I can't change  
  
I'll replace the decay  
  
Make you second guess your everyday  
  
I can't change  
  
I'll survey the damage  
  
Kill the narcissist with his reflection  
  
Until tomorrow  
  
~Jack off Jill  
  
*****  
  
He sat idly on the bed, not caring or wishing for anything in the world at the moment except for freedom - both literally and metaphorically.  
  
He wished to be free from the haunts of his pursuers, eternally screaming in his ear, their voices forever pounding in his head, screeching and cursing at him, telling him that he was no good.  
  
As a younger boy, he'd been very skinny - geeky and awkward - unable to defend himself physically, and he was never all that great at the world's best comebacks. Even when he tried, the bullies, for lack of a better word, would just roll their eyes, say something degrading, and proceed to bust his face into the ground, wondering how long it would take for the imprint to show.  
  
It continued throughout his young life, and the tables were turned for just a short while once his mutation manifested.  
  
A few weeks after his thirteenth birthday, after getting off at his appropriate bus stop, the bullies that had tormented him for more than half of those years had also gotten off and began to chase him.  
  
He ran through yards, ducking under trees, leaping over fences, trying not to get a limb  
  
_ [what had that movie been? Stand By Me? The man set his dog Chopper to "sic balls"] _  
  
torn off by a protective, rabid dog. Near his house, he remembered the fence was almost as tall as he, he leapt, his foot caught, and he fell tumbling headfirst onto the ground.  
  
Out of fear, he froze in shock on the ground, waiting for the bullies to catch him and pummel him. When it never came, he craned his neck around and tried to retain his eyes in his sockets. His tormentors were staring dumbfounded at reflections of themselves.  
  
And thus, Donovan Bingham escaped.  
  
Unfortunately, after that incident, the boys learned better and still continued their assault on Donny.  
  
Then one day, not as unfamiliar as now, he sat on his bed, vaguely scratching at his arms with his scissors (blue, and with his name written all over them in his handwriting over the years).  
  
And lord, did it feel good.  
  
After a few years of doing this to himself, he could no longer hide it and he confessed to his parents who, even after being furious with him for being a mutant, were still understanding considering that Donovan was their only son.  
  
"Donovan," a nurse said, his balding head gleaming in the fluorescent lights, "lights out son."  
  
He nodded, still rubbing his fingernails along the inside of his left forearm tracing a vein, and got under the covers, as the nurse flipped off the switch.  
  
Down the hall, someone began to cry, a slight mewing sound.  
  
***  
  
Damn did his shoulder hurt like a mother.  
  
He ran a hand through his grubby blonde hair, trying to take his mind off the throbbing in his shoulder which, naturally, was caused by the "wardens" here at the lovely Asylum Hotel.  
  
He hadn't really even done anything to deserve being thrown in this time. Biting his lip, he tried not to scream. He loathed tiny rooms, they always felt like they were going to collapse on him, strangle him.  
  
He curled into a tiny ball, blue eyes shot with silver glaring at the room, daring the walls to move. He chuckled under his breath, wishing they hadn't remembered to put that damn jacket on him again.  
  
Maybe they had received a letter from one the previous institutions he had been in, telling them to make sure he couldn't  
  
_[let me out you fucks I need to feel it I need blades pricks needles come on give it to me let me out so I can BITE]_  
  
do anything to himself or others.  
  
His father had killed himself while the boy was at an early age, so he didn't really mind so much; his mother on the other hand...  
  
His mother got worked up easily, agitated if you even breathed too loudly.  
  
She never beat him, lord no, but sometimes she would smack him - it was nothing he couldn't take.  
  
His lineage was plagued by mental disorders, and he was soon diagnosed with schizophrenia. What luck, huh?  
  
His mother stuck him in one of the god-forsaken, mentally decapitating hell houses.  
  
Once they discovered him as being a mutant, it only got worse from there. They sent him to a hidden, underground compartment since they considered him to be less than human and deserved less good treatment than the others.  
  
One time, on bad behavior, they sent him to solitary  
  
_ [and isn't it scary how they're all mirror images of the last one?]_  
  
and there he tried to bite through his wrist; he still had a disfigured scar there. The metallic taste of the blood would never leave his memory, and he reveled in it.  
  
At every institute he became more notorious for his break-out efforts; once he'd almost succeeded. He was cornered at the top of the roof, the guards surrounding him. Trying to fight off his fear, he puffed up his chest and persuaded himself that - yes - he could fly damn it!  
  
So he tried, jumping off the roof, dangling there as a guard held onto his leg. Staring down into the ground which now seemed miles away, he clambered back up, silent tears of fright streaming down his porcelain face.  
  
Three times he'd been issued a bar-code to be tattooed on his blue- white skin. More times than he could count he'd been abused, cursed at and hated. His bones had been broken a record breaking amount of times - so record breaking that he couldn't even remember just how often.  
  
It became so that he'd spent so much time locked behind bars, and shoved in five by eight white padded rooms that he forgot all about himself, except for his first name.  
  
Thus, Devlin was cursed to spend an eternity in pain.  
  
What he wouldn't give for some  
  
_ [heroin give me my goddamn heroin!]_  
  
freedom.  
  
Long, sweet, glorious freedom.  
  
Oh, sure, he'd been able to be on the run for a few weeks at a time, spending it having rough sex with some other boy he'd been able to hook up with at some random bar.  
  
He had a scar on his shoulder to prove it.  
  
It rather resembled the one on his wrist, in fact.  
  
*****  
  
Oh, goodness. By Jove, yes, we'll have to up the rating by the end of this. *eye twitch* That's the gajillion time I've had to keep upping it until it go no further... Hmm...  
  
MERRY CHRISTMAS MY LOVES!!  
  
And a very merry one to my beta, Dead Caffeine Junkie who is the most beautiful goddess in all religions. ^-^ Love ya, babe.  
  
THANKS TO: cheeky-bear007; The Little Prophet; KS-fan; Radical Ed 85; Kiyou Wiz; TigerStorm; XX-Goth-Gal; Phobia; Nacla; MissNovelist and elvin lord mic.  
  
Love and Peace  
  
-Holly 


	4. Chapter Three: Frozen

Bleeding Sanctuary  
  
By: Holly Rose E.  
  
Summary:  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Author's Note: Yes, you may kill me for making you wait. I'm sure I can conjureup some masochistic tendencies, while you find the sadist in you. *sigh* But...I love you all anyway. So gut me.  
  
Disclaimer: fook you. I don't own. fook you. Never will. Fook you. Marvel and WB and yadayada. Fook you. ALL HAIL JOHNNY THE HOMICIDAL MANIAC!  
  
*****  
  
Chapter Three: Frozen  
  
Grasping on the galaxy  
  
Warmed here by the sun  
  
Floating to infinity  
  
Collapse and come undone  
  
Perfectly dimension here  
  
Immensity collapse  
  
Blasted in but far behind  
  
Won't be torn in half  
  
What the hell's the point of this life?  
  
~Collide  
  
*****  
  
He'd never truly had anything wrong with him. He'd led a normal life, with a happily married mother and father.  
  
He was an only child, and he liked it that way.  
  
A drifter in school, he couldn't truly be classified as anything, since he never caused any rifts or brought attention to himself. He'd done what he was told, and had always received good grades after working hard for them.  
  
He was just your average person, with no need to be where he was now.  
  
Strapped down to a table, his arms bound heavily in leather straps to restrain him.  
  
Not that he'd want to; it was just 'precautionary' after hearing of how he had landed himself here.  
  
He'd only meant to experiment; he'd seen it on television, the news, heard it from his peers at school. He just wanted to know what all the fuss was about, why everyone, once trying it, became so addicted. Like they were shooting up on heroin instead of just bleeding themselves.  
  
It was medieval, true; it was what doctors had done to their patients to try and rid them of some life-staking disease that would plague them. He glowered at the ceiling.  
  
The act of bleeding one's self was meant to drain away all the sickness in you, to try in haste to discharge whatever horrible thing was lodging itself inside. But, now...  
  
Now in this sickeningly twisted, mad, mad world there only seemed to be sickness and plagues wherever anyone turned. There was no safe place, nowhere to run and nowhere where you could truly be protected from the evils of the outside world.  
  
And with that thought, he'd wanted to see what would happen if he tried to drain himself when there was no disease in him. He had taken his old scissors--he'd also heard that they were the main use implement for cutting one's self, but only child's play... he'd once met a girl who'd used a butcher's knife--and dragged them across his forearm faintly.  
  
Sure, it bled, but only for a moment.  
  
He was also a mutant, so maybe that was what his 'disease' was. He had a keen healing factor, not only on himself but also on others.  
  
Nekoda Challis's face itched.  
  
On impulse, he tried to scratch it, but whimpered in disappointment when he found he could not. Looking up into the nurse's face, he saw that there would be no help there.  
  
There was nothing worse in the world than having an itch he couldn't scratch.  
  
***  
  
He wasn't much used to solitary confinement, seeing as he was usually seen sucking up when he got the chance; he'd only started the habit of doing so since being thrown in here.  
  
A girl was sitting across from him. He knew who she was. She was the girl who knew everything and saw everything that happened in the building. It was something to do with her mutation, but she said that it had nothing to do with it. She was normally quiet, and kept to herself, unless bugged about something. Then, she would sigh in false irritation and look condescendingly at whoever was pestering her.  
  
This was one of those moments.  
  
"Hey, how's Leila doing?"  
  
"In her room as always, Cole, you know this." she said.  
  
"She hasn't, you know." he cleared his throat for emphasis, shaking his wrist a little bit to further emphasize his point.  
  
"No, but I saw her scratching a little bit."  
  
"What about Trevor?"  
  
"Infirmary. They caught him throwing his food up again."  
  
"What about the new guy? What's his name-?"  
  
"Nekoda? In the Hallway."  
  
He shuddered. He himself had never been there, and didn't particularly want to.  
  
The Hallway was the wing where they took you if they wanted to keep a close eye on you. Usually they just drugged you up and waited to see what would happen. When it was visitors' day or nearing it, then it was just a softer infirmary. No real reason for it to be there, but to keep the newbies from giving into their primal instincts of doing whatever landed them in here.  
  
Nekoda was a newbie, and he should be thanking his lucky stars that tomorrow was visiting day for the inmates, or as the psychiatrics called them, patients.  
  
But everyone knew, especially a ghoulish boy by the name of Devlin, that one room had a hidden passageway to an underground test area.  
  
Actually, in all honesty, it wasn't precisely a test area. It was just a place for the sadistic sons of--Cole took a breath, trying not to let his anger get the best of him. He noticed that some of the shadows were twitching, and he didn't want _them_ to get mad too--for those that ran the place to have their little fun, to get their kicks by making the patients scream and cry and beg for mercy. For any kind of repentance that might be bestowed upon their damned souls.  
  
"Donovan?"  
  
This was customary for him, to quiz her on the whereabouts of the inner group. Sometimes they didn't always get along, but they pulled together when the worst came to the worst. You could have said they were 'in charge' really, because they more or less ran the show. They were the 'inner' and they knew everything, and had been there the longest.  
  
Well, that would actually be Arianna who was one of the two in their group that had been the originals at the asylum.  
  
"In his room, probably musing about god-knows-when when he was on the outs," she said, picking up her book once more.  
  
"Arianna and Christine?"  
  
"Arianna would be with Christine on basement duty."  
  
"Again?"  
  
"You know how Christine is."  
  
"I wonder when she's finally going to realize that Arianna is straight and nothing's ever going to change that?" Cole laughed.  
  
"At least Arianna's a good sport about it. It could be worse."  
  
"She could be trying to fuck your brains out every two minutes."  
  
She looked up startled, nearly fumbling with her book, turning a bright shade of vermilion.  
  
"God, don't tell me you like her too? You've got to be the fifth girl whose got it bad for her?"  
  
"I have got _nothing_ for anybody, Cole Turner, and you'll do your best to remember that," she huffed, storming away.  
  
Cole merely rolled his eyes, and sat back, wanting nothing more than to be back on the outs cruising with his friends and just being a regular guy.  
  
***  
  
The thing with Arianna, besides the fact that she could be completely clueless sometimes, was that she could not, for the life of her, determine what was okay and what wasn't.  
  
One could say that it was a virtuous quality, since she wasn't-- couldn't be--prejudiced in any way, shape, or form.  
  
However, on the other hand, it also meant that she was likely to get whoever she was with into too much trouble for saying too much, or at the wrong time.  
  
Heaven help them if it was both.  
  
"Hey, Arianna, can I ask you a question?"  
  
An arched eyebrow, a flitting of shadow-cast eyes.  
  
"Must you say something every two goddamn minutes to get us into trouble?"  
  
"Christine, I don't understand what the problem is. We're always on duty anyway, and I must remind you, it isn't my fault half the time."  
  
"Are you saying it's mine?" Christine's voice rose to a high-pitch, a glower painting her pale face.  
  
Arianna rose up, one hand on the shovel. "No, of course not, Chris. Tis only you and I who ever get placed to do this god-awful chore. So if it isn't my fault--which it certainly isn't--and you claim that it isn't yours, then it's probably just the screwed up asylum ways of the officials on high."  
  
"I know somebody who's high. You really need to stop inhaling so much when we do this. One of these days, the fumes are going to go straight to your brain."  
  
"You would know from experience, wouldn't you?"  
  
"Bitch."  
  
Arianna didn't even bother to comment on that. She and Chris both knew it was going to be the same old, routine thing she said every time Christine opened her mouth and cursed.  
  
"Did you see the new group yesterday?"  
  
"Nope."  
  
"Me either," Arianna frowned, grunting as she attempted to roll away a heavy rock that was blocking any further digging into the ground.  
  
"Since both Leah and Maire were fucking murdered, you think," Christine oofed as she went over to help Arianna, tripping over her own shovel and landing on her stomach, "that we should get two more for the group?"  
  
"I don't care either way."  
  
Christine helped out, pushing on the boulder with all her might, "I know you don't, I'm just trying to make some goddamn conversation here."  
  
"You know, Christine, all the cursing-."  
  
"I KNOW!" She cried, raising her arms and stomping away, muttering obscenities under her breath.  
  
Arianna sucked in her cheeks; it was in her nature to push away people like that. To find some way to degrade them mentally, and keep at it. Though Christine was one of the few who hadn't attempted homicide on her, she had to be thankful for at least that much.  
  
Then again, only she and Chris were the ones left to tell of the horrors that had been committed here the first few years.  
  
And what a pity it was, really.  
  
"I'm hungry."  
  
"Look, another bunny. Stupid thing got lost down here and died," Arianna bent down to look at it closely. The stench invaded her senses, making her head whirl in a flurry.  
  
"Fuckin' mammals, man. Dude, they're all morons."  
  
"Yes," Arianna whispered, reaching for her shovel as she stood up.  
  
"When I get outta here, I'm going to become the new Hitler of the millennium I tell you. Except, I'm only going to get rid of the stupid people, so it wouldn't really be like Hitler, you know? Because, unlike his inane murders, I know for a fuckin' _fact_ that those shits won't amount to anything."  
  
"Of course, nobody ever does," Arianna swung the shovel over her shoulder, feet planted firmly on the ground.  
  
"Morons, the whole lot of them. Know what we should do with them?"  
  
"Kill," Arianna whispered almost to the point of mouthing it, as she swung the shovel down on to the deceased rabbit carcass, decaying mucus and moss spraying in all directions.  
Christine sauntered up, placing a hand on Arianna's shoulder. "You've inspired me once more, friend."  
  
"You've got a plan?"  
  
Christine nodded, a malicious smile forming on her face.  
  
Arianna got the point, and they both whispered, "Newbies," as they turned to look at the approaching person, whose footsteps pounded on the tile stairs, before becoming thuds on the wood, and making disgusting sucking noises once they reached the mud.  
  
"Hello, ladies. I've got a different job for the two of you."  
  
-End Chapter Three-  
  
*****  
  
LOOKIE! INTERACTION! Didya see, didya see?! *cackles*  
  
OH! And, there are... Two (?) more characters to be brought in. One is dead, so... Hmm.  
  
Alright then...  
  
Nekoda Challis belongs to Nacla.  
  
Cole Turner belongs to Min-kat.  
  
Arianna Maat belongs to Kiyou Wiz.  
  
Christine is mine. I promise on all that is holy--or nonholy, whichever you prefer--that she will NOT be a main focus. Swear.  
  
Anyway... Almost five pages on this chapter. *sigh* I guess it's better than what I've been giving you...  
  
THANK YOU'S TO:  
  
MissNovelist, Min-Kat, TigerStorm, PasswordBackwards, XX-Goth-Gal, cheeky- bear007, Kiyou Wiz, Radical Ed85. 


	5. Chapter Four: Bleed

Bleeding Sanctuary  
  
By: Holly Rose E.  
  
Rating: PG-13  
  
Author's Note: Short chapter. I apologize. Do you guys like the shorter chapters/waits, or do you prefer waiting a tad longer for...well... the longer chapters?  
  
Disclaimer: WTF? Haven't I answered before? But, alas, to my greatest disappointment, I have no relation to any of these characters or their makers.  
  
*****  
  
Chapter Four: Bleed  
  
I wanna bleed, show the world all that I have inside  
  
I wanna scream, let the blood flow that keeps me alive  
  
Take all those strings they call my veins  
  
Wrap them around every fucking thing  
  
~Cold  
  
*****  
  
"Danny? Hey, Danny, wait up!"  
  
Daniel Clarke turned around slowly, watching as the slight boy ran up to him. "Hello," he said carefully, watching him warily.  
  
Donovan smiled brightly, "I love free periods, don't you? Anyway, Christine called a meeting for tomorrow after visiting hours are over. She wanted to make sure you knew."  
  
"Oh, well, thank you," he dipped his head slightly, his long bangs falling to cover his light green eyes, thick black eyeliner accentuating them.  
  
"You boys!"  
  
"Oh, damn, it's the Mick," Donovan muttered.  
  
Danny turned around slowly; staring with head still bowed slightly, as Theodore McConnell strode towards him. Ted was one of the top guards there and a huge, moronic ape most of the time.  
  
"What're yer names, boys?" He growled, baring his fang-like teeth as one hand rested on the top of his club that was tucked safely into his belt.  
  
"Donovan Bingham, and this is Danny... Danny..."  
  
"Clarke, Daniel Clarke, sir."  
  
"Where are you two faggots supposed to be right now?" McConnell sneered, his yellow wolfish teeth glaring in stark contrast to the impeccably white decorations of the interior hallways.  
  
"It's our free period," Donovan said simply, raising an eyebrow.  
  
McConnell snorted, and grabbed the two boys by the or scruff of their necks, dragging them down the hallway. "Not on my watch, you fucks. You'll be helping the mute bitch and her little fairy boytoy."  
  
Donovan growled within the back of his throat, but Ted decided to ignore it, he had bigger things to take care of than the two of them.  
  
Danny was biting his lip, agonizingly slowly breaking the skin, little by little drawing little droplets of velvety bright red.  
  
Ted smiled viciously, his yellow nails digging into the boys' necks sharply, puncturing the skin and smearing the blood, half-tempted to lick the fluid off his fingers, but he knew better: these particular dip-shits were nothing but lowly, horrid, disgusting mutants.  
  
Donovan's fist clenched, and that normal sensation began to slowly backwash over him, clouding his senses and making his head pound as it screamed against the feeling. He rubbed his wrists violently against the rough material of his jeans, slowly and with as much pressure as he could make. The skin began to redden quickly, chafing easily.  
  
The hall seemed to darken as they continued, and Danny closed his eyes, awaiting what his fate would next shove and beat him into, and to slowly rape his innocence.  
  
***  
  
"Let's move it, you freaks!"  
  
"Come on, newbies, we don't have all day!"  
  
Through the sobs, choked breathy gasps and the blood rivers that were trickling and dripping through the cracked ceiling, the newest arrivals gathered, dressed in hospital gowns.  
  
[you're to take off your clothes and we'll supervise as you bathe  
  
you must be decontaminated  
  
boys on that side, girls on this]  
  
A large man appeared before them as they huddled together, Kitty was sobbing into Rogue's hurriedly covered skin--the girl had latched herself to the untouchable right after they'd been redressed--crying over the abrupt disappearance of Xavier, Logan, and Storm. Rogue had been let out of her confinement only to be thrust into another hell.  
  
She looked around her, the X-Men and Brotherhood had united in this horrific asylum, banding together in a near futile attempt--the guards were surely helping the mental demise--to keep one another sane. To try a weak attempt at staying together and becoming friends.  
  
They only had each other to rely on now.  
  
Kurt's tail thumped on the floor forlornly.  
  
"You're here for one reason and one reason only: you're dirty, filthy, worthless, shitty mutants. We're here to decontaminate our earth, people are the top of the food chain, after all," at this point, the man-- the same that had just spoken to two girls in the last hour--flashed teeth. Ones that had been filed down into dangerous points, snapping at Jean, who flinched, hating that she had no power. "You are lower than fucking amoebae," he stepped even closer to her, "Though, you are *so* much more entertaining," he twirled her dirty hair between his fingers and leaned his face close to hers. He smiled as she tried to back away, but he closed his playing fingers, clasping her hair into a tight fist and dragged his tongue along her cheek. "So much more fun," he whispered.  
  
Jean pushed him away violently, tears streaming down her face. Never before, not even in the direst situations of battle had she felt so weak, so . . . helpless.  
  
The man smiled, winking at her and Jean felt cold fear trickle over her being, and stepped back into the middle of the room, making eye contact with a raging emerald-eyed Rogue, who was clutching onto Kitty now as if her life and Kitty's, depended on it.  
  
Kurt continued to thump his tail.  
  
"Now, you will stay here until directed to your lunch area. After that, one of the other patients," he chuckled at his own joke, "will give you a grand tour. Not the best mind you, you'll have to earn your way to the best rooms in the house."  
  
Lance felt the anger boil up into him, attempting with all its heart to take him over, yet he found he could do naught but stand there like a dead animal, waiting in the wide open for the vultures. Until they came rushing to tear and break his bones, and rip the flesh off them. For those birds of prey to gnaw at him and saw him apart.  
  
The man had turned forward to leave, but only got as far as putting his cardkey near the lock of the door before he whirled around, eyes alight with a perverse idea.  
  
"You! You blue fuck," he dropped his voice to a gentle, beguiling whisper, "Come here."  
  
Kurt, numbly, as he tried to force himself to believe he was in a coma and having an eternal nightmare,  
  
[kurt . . . hon . . . I don't think you have dreams in comas . . .]  
  
walked over to him.  
  
"Turn around, one hundred eighty degrees, *boy*," he spat.  
  
Kurt did as he was told and made eye contact with Tabitha, who had her hands clasped before her heart, her lips moving in a silent prayer, her eyes holding utter anguish as she wished she could help him in some way.  
  
The man, grabbing Kurt's tail, took out his pocket knife and flicked it open. Licking the blade lovingly, and kissing it for good measure, he raised his hand.  
  
The last thing Kurt remembered before blacking out from immense pain, was Amara screaming at the top of her lungs.  
  
-End Chapter Four-  
  
*****  
  
Hmm... yeah, they're all gonna suffer. I'm deciding if I want to make any others lose an appendage or not... ^__^  
  
THANK YOU'S: Kiyou Wiz, Min-kat, XX-Goth-gal, Radical Ed85, DemonRogue13, Sphinx29, RogueOracle [though... I don't quite understand the whole point of it...], Nacla, Officially*Obssessed*With*Pyro, Haretrigger.  
  
AND  
  
Kitrazzle Fayn: Lala, the people I haven't named are just there in this little wonky universe to take up space. You may name her if you wish! *huggles*  
  
cheeky-bear007: I officially give you the most AWESOME reviewer of all g- ddamn time award. Yup. You're such a sweetheart, and I wanna chat with you, but we never seem to have our worlds collide! *cries and glomps*  
  
Ruby: You okay there, hon?  
  
Cloud of Blood: You greatly inspire me, so if anything seems to be similar [same] as what's in "Consequences", you know why. *kisses your feet humbly* MAY YOUR EGO SOAR ABOVE ALL OTHERS! *cackle* 


End file.
